


one man's hell is another's god

by Anonymous



Category: Snowpiercer (TV 2020)
Genre: Bloodplay, Blowjobs, But Not Really Defined, Choking, Dark, Dom/sub, F/M, FaceFucking, Fucked Up Power Dynamics, Hatesex, Introspection, Knives, Possibly Depending on Your Definition, Smut, So If That's Not Your Thing Turn Back Now, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, What Might Possibly Count as Character/Relationship Development, but to be safe, dubcon, like REALLY dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27639394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After Melanie gives Layton the train, they find that they're the only other person they can unleash their demons with.
Relationships: Melanie Cavill/Andre Layton
Kudos: 24
Collections: Anonymous





	one man's hell is another's god

**Author's Note:**

> Please, PLEASE comment if there's anything else you think needs to be tagged. I did my very best to tag everything I could think of, but if I missed something then let me know! I'm willing to tag more!

It had started (like everything else with them had) as a power play. If you’d asked _how_ it had happened, however, Andre Layton wouldn’t have honestly been able to say. Except that it sure _had_ happened; Melanie’s body jerked with every thrust, his hands braced against the headboard for leverage. Her nails dug in his back hard enough to leave scratches. He didn’t mind; the bite marks littered across her neck and chest were payback enough.

It was far from the first time they’d ended up like this. She came to him, usually; he was just fine with that. The feeling of _power_ that ran through his veins every single time was heady. Knowing that he’d drawn the noises that he had from a woman of myth filled him with a sense of pride he knew that she was annoyed by. Nevertheless, he didn’t really care.

It was more than the power rush, though. That she would risk vulnerability with a man who had once tried to kill her-with a man who still wanted to, some days, and a man who _she_ had once tried to kill-stirred something inside of him he knew neither how to name nor even begin to define. He didn’t want to, either.

The way it was _his_ name that spilled from her lips as she came-that was enough.

-o-o-o-

The first time was a blur of endorphins and desperation. He’d been wound up from a council meeting, and she’d stayed. He didn’t know _why_ she’d stayed, but she had and then she was murmuring his name-his _first_ name-and her mouth was on his, hot and insistent. It was embarrassing to him that he hadn’t lasted more than a fraction of a second before kissing her back just as intensely. Her body slammed against a wall and she broke the kiss with a strangled sound. He didn’t hesitate to start kissing her again.

He’d underestimated her strength, he realized as Melanie wrapped around him and turned so that he was the one with his back to the wall. Before he could even think of a response (a retaliation), she had stopped kissing him and was slowly lowering herself to her knees in front of him, eyes locked with his. Her expression was unreadable, but the intent with which her eyes flickered to his belt as she began to unbuckle it was a clear enough sign.

She _was_ efficient, he thought wildly as she freed him from his boxers and wasted no time taking him into her mouth. Then his brain stopped working; the only thing he was aware of was the way she licked and sucked on his dick; the way she took his hands to place them in her hair before using one of her own to stroke his length in tandem with the movements of her mouth.

He didn’t bother to warn her when he was about to come. He fisted his hands tighter in her hair and held her there, relishing in the somewhat startled noise she made as he forced her to swallow without gagging.

When he let go of her she sat back, assessing him. He watched her wipe her mouth off; she stood then, and readjusted her clothing and hair.

“You want me to reciprocate?” Layton finally mustered up the courage and energy to ask.

Melanie shook her head, a puzzling smile on her face, “No.”

-o-o-o-

The second time, she had him pushed up against the wall again, a hand down his pants. Her pace was almost brutal; he was just grateful that she’d spit on her hand first. Her mouth swallowed the sounds he made as she kissed him just as brutally. It felt like a defeat, or a concession, somehow.

He broke the kiss, removed her hand, and shoved her away. Her chest was heaving, breath uneven; restless. Before she could ask what had happened, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her down to her knees. She smirked up at him as he tangled a hand in her hair, and he snarled back at her, taking himself in hand and using the other to force her forward. It didn't take her long at all to start sucking him off.

“Eager, aren’t you?” he couldn’t help but taunt.

Her teeth grazed him lightly in response; not nearly hard enough to hurt, but a warning nonetheless. Andre rolled his hips towards her in an attempt to regain the upper hand. She choked a bit, eyes watering; he let up on his movements once his point had been made.

He didn’t let Melanie come up for air until he’d finished. When she finally stood up on shaky legs, the look on her face was all too knowing.

She kissed him, pulled away, and murmured, “You know where to find me.”

-o-o-o-

He didn’t find her; she found him, once again, high strung after yet another stressful meeting. This time, however, he wanted something different.

He wasn’t afraid to express it, either, “Take your fucking clothes off.”

She grinned at him, predatory, but she obeyed. She started with her shoes and socks; she unzipped her suit and let it fall to the floor. Her eyes locked with his as she tugged her underwear off and let it join the rest of the clothes she’d removed so far. He swallowed, hard, and didn’t resist when she pulled off his shirt.

“Layton,” she sighed, a too soft sound as she undid his belt, unbuttoning his pants and unzipping his fly. She yanked his pants and boxers down in one fell swoop.

He lifted her onto the council table, dug his hands into her inner thighs and forced them apart. Her jaw went slack as he ran a finger between her legs; he didn’t hate her enough to not make sure that she was ready first.

“Christ, Melanie,” he groaned, “You’re soaked.”

“And?” her voice was breathless; challenging him.

“Are you always this desperate after you finish letting me fuck your mouth?” he parried back.

She leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “Wanna know a secret? I fuck _myself_ afterwards.”

It took him a long moment to process her words, his brain short circuiting at the mental image. It was the soft, mocking laugh she let out that had him taking his dick in hand and thrusting himself unceremoniously into her cunt, her laughter giving way to a shaky moan.

There was a moment of clarity as he began fucking her, hard and fast: that somehow, without knowing exactly _how_ it had happened, she was naked from the waist down, he was _almost_ entirely naked (and it was that realization that had him pulling off her shirt so frantically that it almost tore, not that he particularly cared), and that he was inside of her. It seemed like a stupidly obvious epiphany, but the breathy sounds she made in his ear, her arms around his neck and his hands on her hips pulling her closer-he’d never felt so powerful, even after she’d given him her train.

And that was just it, wasn’t it? Give and take, push and pull; a neverending power play from both ends. She’d given him control, and yet she was the only other person who could possibly even _begin_ to understand the absolute hell that it was. She was free from the burden of it, and yet not; he needed her, and she needed him, needed the validation that she was a monster by circumstance rather than by nature, needed the only person as powerful and as equal to her to fuck her on a table that shook precariously with every near violent thrust-

He didn’t care, really, whether or not she came. But she did, and the way she whimpered his name into his ear felt more like a surrender than anything else he’d given up, and it was _that_ that finally undid him. A few more hard, sloppy thrusts and he was coming with her.

She was panting heavily into his ear when Layton regained his senses. He extricated himself quickly, unable to meet her eyes for a second. When he did, Melanie had the same unreadable, analytical expression on her face that he’d seen countless times before.

“Melanie-” his breath hitched as he stopped, unsure what to say. In fact, he wasn’t sure _why_ he’d tried to say anything at all; he really had nothing to say to her.

“Don’t worry,” she smirked at him, “I won’t tell anyone.”

He wracked his brain for a response as she hopped off of the table to begin redressing. He stood there, watching her blankly. By the time she was fully clothed, he’d come up empty.

All he could do was watch her go, before getting dressed again himself.

-o-o-o-

He ran the knife up her thigh, staring her dead in the eyes. To her credit, she showed no signs of fear-if she was afraid at all; the way she’d raised her chin was defiant. It was the first time that they’d made it to a bed; he didn’t know how to feel about it. But she’d shown up, mumbling into his mouth that she needed him, and who was he to pass her up on that offer?

It was the first time that they could take their time, and for some reason the turmoil within him that revelation had caused-that intoxicating mix of attraction and repulsion-had flipped a switch somewhere inside of him. He’d ordered her to strip naked- _completely_ naked-and lie on his bed while he found what he was looking for.

“What would you do if I cut you with this?” he murmured the question, glancing pointedly down as he lightly dug the tip of the knife into the skin just below her cunt, not hard enough to break her skin. 

“Depends on where you cut me,” she raised an eyebrow.

“How about here?” he slid the knife down her thigh slightly, towards her knee.

Melanie shrugged casually, “Why not?”

Andre grinned ferally. The way she keened as he cut into her flesh only made his dick even harder. He dragged the knife upwards a bit, back towards her cunt, before letting go. She was breathing wildly, body trembling; he did not know whether it was from fear or arousal, nor did he particularly _want_ to. Before she could recover, he was leaning down, licking up the blood. Her hips bucked, hands tangling in the sheets, body shuddering.

He didn’t waste any time crawling up the length of her body, settling with their hips flush against each others’, between her legs. The knife was at the top of one of her breasts now. He raised an eyebrow, and she gulped, nodding eagerly. He leaned down and kissed her as he slashed the blade there, careful not to dig in too deep. She ground her hips upwards, desperate for _any_ kind of relief. The look on his face was smug when they broke the kiss. Once more he bent his head to lick up the blood. When he’d finished, he flung the knife to the side, too desperate to care. She understood; her hand wrapped around his dick, and she pulled him to her entrance. He took the hint, thrusting in hard.

He hoped that the people in the neighboring compartment weren’t home with the way the headboard smacked violently against the wall over and over and _over_ again as their pace became increasingly frantic. He looked at the woman beneath him; her eyes were screwed shut, face tense, the noises she made more and more frequent and desperate. He still didn’t really _care_ if she came, but the heady rush he felt whenever she did was enough for him to not slap her hand away when it came between their bodies to touch herself. Instead he watched, fascinated, as the infamous woman he was inside of came, screaming and shuddering. 

He hated that it was enough to send him over the edge with her.

-o-o-o-

She’d been angry today, when he’d seen her earlier in the engine. She’d felt as if he were undermining her authority as the head engineer. Bennett had had to separate them before their verbal argument had turned too ugly. Layton was in his room, mulling over some incredibly boring reports later, when the knock at the door sounded. 

“Yeah?” he leaned back in his chair. 

He almost jumped out of skin at the sight of her. The cold, hard look on her face and the steely, challenging glint in her eyes still appeared sometimes, but it was the outfit that scared him: the ghost of Snowpiercer past in her teal hospitality uniform. 

“Does it still bother you?” she quirked up an eyebrow up as she taunted him. 

“What the fuck, Melanie?” he growled as he stood and made his way towards her. 

She said nothing, _did_ nothing, when he undid the knot at the base of her skull and tugged her newly freed hair- _hard_ , until her head was tilted up at him. Her eyes watered, but she still said nothing; didn't break their staring contest. 

“I just figured that we could finish what we started earlier,” she explained casually. 

“And you decided to dress up for it?” his tone was still incredulous and harsh. 

She shrugged, “This is how you still see me, isn’t it? The woman who took everything from you. The woman who you’ll gladly fuck whenever and wherever and _however_ you want, but who you can’t trust to do _her_ _job_ because you’re so terrified of her still, of the idea that she could-”

Seeing red, he cut her off with a hard kiss. She let out a bitter sounding laugh into his mouth, and his hands wandered her body. Andre shoved her roughly into the wall behind her. She groaned and he pulled back and looked at her. He all but tore her jacket off; the skirt followed, and he _actually_ ripped off her blouse, too impatient and angry to care. He’d give her one of his own shirts if he was feeling generous. 

He was more careful with her underwear; she’d still need that. He let Melanie remove his own clothes, and then her legs wrapped around his hips as he lifted her up against the wall, pushed into her with no preamble, and began fucking her. 

At some point he decided to move them, carrying her as he stumbled back to his bed. Depositing her on it caused him to slip out, but he wasted no time entering her again, kneeling between her legs. The angle made it easy for him to place a hand on her throat. Their eyes locked. 

She nodded slightly, “Do it.”

He squeezed as he increased his pace inside of her. Their eyes remained locked. When he let go of her neck, she came with a gasp, panting heavily as her body tried to get much needed oxygen. It didn’t take him too long to follow. 

Afterwards, he held her for the first time. 

“You owe me a shirt,” Melanie grumbled into the skin of his chest. 

Layton chuckled and pulled her closer, saying nothing in response. 

-o-o-o-

The next time they had sex, Layton brought out his knives again. Melanie lay back on his bed, chest heaving in excited anticipation. He grinned at her; the eagerness she displayed would have almost been endearing if it wasn’t such a clear sign of her surrender. She enjoyed this, he realized. The thought wasn’t as terrifying as it’d once been, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that.

“Are you with other people?” he asked. It’d been something on his mind for a while; it was easy enough to convince himself that it was a practical concern.

“Would it bother you if I was?” she asked him back.

He shrugged, honest, “Maybe.”

“Well I’m not,” she told him, equal honesty in her eyes when they locked onto his, “And I wouldn’t lie to you about that. Safety is important.”

“That it is,” his smile softened, just a fraction, “I’m not with anyone else, either.”

After a moment, she swallowed and nodded, “Good.”

The tension in the room became so thick that it was almost uncomfortable. Layton brought his knife to just above her hip bone, and looked at her. She nodded her consent; they’d never really needed words to give it.

It was _letters_ this time, she realized as she gasped. He held her down to keep her from bucking and causing him to cut her too deeply as he carved out two letters into her skin-his initials. He looked up at her when he was done and had flung the knife to the side, meeting her eyes before leaning down to lick up her blood.

When Melanie pulled him up and kissed him, she tasted the blood on his tongue. She still tasted it as he fucked her, even once they’d broken apart. Her arms wrapped tightly around him, she let the feeling carry her away.

-o-o-o-

She understood the symbolism of it: the way he’d marked her was a clear declaration that she was his. If she was his though, then he was _also_ hers. It was fucked up and complicated, but it was _them-_ and that was enough. He marked her in other ways, too; bites not just on her chest where only he’d see, but on her neck too, where she’d have to explain it to Bennett and Javi the next morning. Melanie scratched his back in retaliation; he braced his hands on the headboard, and then didn't. They’d have scars to match, just like the scars they carried inside of themselves from the weight of keeping the last of the human race alive. It was a burden that no one should have had to bear.

But it was _theirs_ ; shouldering the weight of the world yes, but also the weight of the monsters they’d become. The monstrosity of their unique position had been what drew them together like magnets, but there was care there now, too. Care that had _already_ been there, but care that they were now beginning to acknowledge for what it was. If they could understand the other’s monstrosity, then how could they _not_ understand the other’s compassion and motivation, too?

The mark above her hip had begun to scar over. He’d cut deeper than he ever had before or since that time, intending to leave her with something lasting. She wondered, sometimes, if he’d let her mark him in kind if she ever asked.

He’d gone down on her for the first time tonight. Neither of them had let her come; she wanted him inside of her too badly, and he didn’t know how to process the tenderness that had overcome him. Roughness was what they were best accustomed to when it came to this; there was relief and release to be found in taking out their frustrations on each other. But they always, _always_ made sure that the other wanted it first.

“Andre,” Melanie cried out as she came. It didn’t take long for him to follow her into ecstasy. The feeling of freedom that came with their orgasms was always almost too much for them both.

And after, now, he held her. He no longer laid there stiff as a board either; there was something gentle in it, almost. As if he were holding onto something precious; something fragile that he intended not to break.

She felt the same way. And maybe, one day, they’d be able to fully accept what it was that they had, and put a name to it.

But for now it was enough. _This_ was enough.


End file.
